Fear of Drowning
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: An angstladen fic in which 14yearold Malcolm Reed gets sick, gets yelled at, competes on a swim team, almost drowns twice and has a number of nervous breakdowns. Please read and review! Finished Feb16 enjoy!
1. Part I

Disclaimer: I don't own the Reeds.

AN: Well, it's like five in the morning… I'm sick. Today I'm missing my fencing lesson, a lit test and an oral report I have to give to my Heritage in Faith class and I'm **pissed**. Luckily, it's nothing serious and I should be back at school when it re-opens Tuesday (to make up my test-joy of all joys!). But I figured as long as I have to stay awake and suffer, I might as well do something productive like make Malcolm suffer too! Yeah!

Also, one quick thing: I know that Girl Scout counterparts in England are 'Girl Guides', but are the boys 'Boy Guides'? I didn't know, so I just put 'Scout'. 

**__**

Fear of Drowning

Part I

He was underwater. Dimly, he acknowledged that, and opened his eyes to see why. Everything was blue-green and distorted, but he was still in his own room, now somehow filled as if it was a lake. 

He kicked his legs out to the sides, just like he was taught, trying to swim for the door, and hopefully air. And that's when it hit him.

He couldn't breath. He didn't know what he expected, fully submersed in water, but the reality hadn't come to him until now. He kicked out wildly, flailing, all of his Scout emergency training leaving him in an instant. He opened his mouth to scream and the last of the air escaped his lungs. 

He could barely keep his eyes open. His chest felt like fire, his vision swirling both with pain and oxygen deprivation. He raised his hand, groping for purchase on the wall, feeling himself being pulled down, deeper, where the water was colder and darker and there was nothing else to see. 

His eyes closed.

Then Malcolm Reed awoke, limbs flailing wildly, his hand hitting the wall as he struggled out of his sheet cocoon, desperately choking on nothing. He couldn't breath; he still couldn't breath. He tried to scream but no sound came out.

He struggled into a sitting position, trembling, and managed to calm down for long enough to force himself to cough. This backfired and soon he was coughing violently, doubled over, a bitter taste in his mouth, one hand groping for the light switch on the wall while the other desperately clutched at his chest. 

He managed to get a breath in, shakily, and forced himself to stand a little straighter. This, as it turned out, was a bad idea.

He ran to the bathroom and knelt down beside the toilet, retching and coughing and sobbing very slightly until he finally managed to stop a minute later. At last he sat back, leaning hard on the wall. 

All he could think to do was breath, slowly, in and out, in and out. In and out. 

Malcolm sat there, shaking, until he felt it safe to move. 

~

"Pneumonia!" His father roared. "This is the year of Our Lord two-thousand, one-hundred and thirty-three, and you're telling me my son has pneumonia?" The doctor shrunk back, something for which he couldn't be blamed.

"Besides," Stuart continued when the doctor was sufficiently intimidated, "Reeds don't get pneumonia."

"I don't know what to tell you, sir," Dr. Klartz- a young-looking, nervous man who actually had almost six inches on Stuart Reed- said apologetically. "But your son does have pneumonia. I assure you, it's nothing he won't get over with a few days rest…"

Malcolm sat dejectedly on the doctor's cot, trying his best to keep his mind on breathing rather than his father's angry voice. He was terrified, hiding it well but still terrified nonetheless, both of his father's reaction to his illness and of the pneumonia itself. He wasn't a child anymore; he knew what pneumonia was. There was fluid in his lungs. It was just like drowning. 

"He doesn't have 'a few days'," Stuart was saying. "He'll miss his meet tomorrow!"

At the mention of the swim team, Malcolm's stomach turned further. His father had had the brilliant idea of pulling strings to get him onto the swim team a few months ago, in an almost desperate attempt to force him to overcome his fear of the water. It hadn't worked, obviously.

"You swim, Malcolm?" Klartz asked politely. 

Malcolm nodded slightly.

"The doctor asked you a question, son," Stuart said quietly, anger raging beneath his temporary mask of calm.

"Yessir," Malcolm said to the doctor. His throat was raw from all the coughing; it hurt to talk. But if it placated his father, even briefly, he'd do it.

"That could be an issue of sorts." Klartz consulted the chart, still a safe distance away from his patient's father. "I see here that Malcolm has been ill five times this year, and it's only October…

"Are you calling my boy weak?" Stuart demanded. 

__

So now_ I'm 'his boy'_, Malcolm thought dryly.

"No, sir," Klartz said quickly. "All I'm saying is… if his immune system isn't at one-hundred percent, for whatever reason… well, swimming can be harmful… practice is rigorous, I'm sure… it can wear you down… then with all those people in one pool…"

"Are you quite through, Doctor?" Stuart asked, enunciating every word and spitting the last one like a curse. 

"Yes, Mr. Reed. I apologize. I-I'll give you a prescription for some antibiotics…" Klartz stuttered, looking over at Malcolm probably so he wouldn't have to speak to his father instead. 

"Why not a hypospray? I heard they have those to take care of everything," Stuart growled pleasantly. It was a talent of his- his voice demanded that the doctor address him directly.

"I wouldn't suggest it," Klartz told a spot on the wall near Stuart's head. "It's an experimental technology… if Malcolm is indeed immune-deficient in any way…"

"I don't want suggestions. Would it work?" Malcolm sensed his father's anger rising once more.

"Yes," Dr. Klartz admitted miserably. 

"He'd be able to swim tomorrow," Stuart prompted, coming to stand next to Malcolm.

"Yes." The doctor hung his head slightly. "But…"

"Now, Doctor," Stuart said, putting a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "You wouldn't want to make me shuttle this poor boy all over the greater London area to find a second opinion, would you?" 

Klartz sighed, pressing a button on the wall. "Nurse, I need a hypospray set for pneumonia," he said into the speaker. A minute later, a pretty red-haired woman came into the room with what looked like a palm-held metal rod.

Klartz accepted it hesitantly and thanked her, turning back to Malcolm and his father when he was through. "There should be no side-effects," he began. "But if you experience anything out of the ordinary…"

"Please get on with it, Doctor," Stuart said. "I'm sure Malcolm will be fine, won't you, Malcolm?"

"Yessir," Malcolm replied, not meeting his father's steel-colored eyes. The next thing he felt was the cold touch of an instrument on his neck, accompanied by a small his from this 'hypospray' thing. 

He had to admit: he felt better. Air went into his lungs with every shallow breath; he inhaled deeper and didn't begin to cough. He tried not to grin.

"There, you see?" Stuart clapped Klartz on the shoulder, and the poor man swayed slightly. "Good as new! Thank you, my good man." He made to stride through the door, turning at the last minute.

"Come, Malcolm. And thank the good doctor!" Then he left. 

Malcolm looked over at the doctor, leaning against a wall, and every trace of his temporary euphoria disintegrated. "Thank you, sir," he recited, trying to look as if he were still feeling wonderful. 

The doctor nodded, then smiled sympathetically. 

Malcolm left, frowning as he did so. His father had taught him that Reeds did not accept sympathy. 


	2. Part II

Disclaimer: I don't own the Reeds.

Oh my gosh, did any of you see ENT last night (I guess a few nights ago by the time I post this). T'Pol and Trip… that is _soooo_ not how they should have been shipped. It's just below them. However, the Trip/Malcolm scene was outstanding: great acting on both sides. For some reason it just struck me how Malcolm kind of hunched over and shook his head slightly when he talks, while Trip just sort of sits there, looking really 'set' and sort of confrontational and all… just loved it. Great character moment. 

**__**

Fear of Drowning

Part II

Miraculously, Stuart Reed had not forced his son to go to school that day. Malcolm had almost expected he would; if they had hurried, he could have made it for the last two or three periods. Instead, Malcolm now sat in his room, staring around it with a small amount of apprehension. 

He felt worlds better now; all that was left to testify to the morning's events was a small red patch on his neck where the hypospray had touched him. And still… it was one o'clock, only eight hours since he had been jolted awake, unable to breath- his deadliest fear. The dream of his water-filled room stuck with him; the fact that he had been for a few moments, essentially, drowning stayed in his mind like an angry insect buzzing incessantly. 

He wouldn't be able to face that pool tomorrow night, Malcolm knew. There was just no way. Perhaps if he faked sick… then was able to talk to Doctor Klartz for a minute alone… he seemed a nice man. Perhaps he'd be willing to tell Malcolm's father that he had an allergy of sorts to the hypospray, and it wasn't his fault if he couldn't swim tomorrow. Maybe ever again.

Malcolm shook his head, words drifting unbidden into his mind: _Reeds don't accept sympathy_. The plan would make his father even angrier if they were discovered. The fact was laid out plain in front of him: there was simply no way that his father would let him skip the meet the next day. It was chickening out, another thing Reeds did not do.

The clock read almost eight at night by the time Malcolm had, miserably, done all his homework for what seemed like the next month, cleaned his room from top to bottom, and even had a tea-party with his seven-year-old sister, Madeline. That done, dinner eaten, there was nothing left for him to do but go to bed and try to sleep. 

He couldn't help it, though; the instant the lights went out, the world was water-filled once more. He tried to convince himself that the dream the night before had merely been a byproduct of his fever- his subconscious's way of interpreting his physical condition- but all he could think of was drowning, there, in his own room.

Instantly Malcolm flipped the lights back on. No water. All dry. He could breath; he wasn't drowning… yet. Placated more than actually comforted, he turned the lights back out and lay on his bed in silence, wondering how the hell he would make it through the next day.

__

Remember, he told himself sharply, willing strength. _No matter what happens, it'll end soon enough. By this time tomorrow, it'll all be over._

He went to sleep at eight forty-one. Eight forty-one on the following day was his goal- survival until then was his only purpose. 

For Malcolm Reed, eight forty-one tomorrow seemed a lifetime away. 

~

The next day, November 1, alternated between flying by at 'Warp speed' and dragging on indefinitely. Homeroom took forever; only two people, Alyssa and Stefan, had even noticed his absence the day before. The pair of them- the closest thing he had to friends, really- spent the first few periods trying to be caring and ask what was wrong. They only gave up when he began to snap back at them when they asked if he was okay, and from that moment on, the day seemed to hurl by before his very eyes.

Malcolm wasn't sure which way he preferred; every passing second brought him closer to quarter of nine that night when, no matter what, he'd be either dead or back, in his bedroom, safe and alive. But also, every second brought him closer to the swim meet, the reason he had begun adding the 'dead' part to his mantra.

At three thirty the bell sounded to signal the day's end, and Malcolm shoved his PADDs into his carry-bag a schlepped off to the locker room. Before he could reach the door, however, Alyssa and Stefan cornered him one last time.

"You've been acting oddly all day, Malcolm," Alyssa said worriedly, toying with her hair. "Will you be alright to swim tonight?" 

Malcolm reigned in any unkind remarks he had dreamed up unconsciously. Why alienate the only two people who seemed genuinely concerned for him? "I'll be fine," he said stiffly.

Stefan, who was also on the team, stepped pointedly on Alyssa's foot before she could prod him any further. "I'll see you there, then, mate," he said, and forced Alyssa to walk off with him. 

Malcolm sighed, hoisting the strap of his bag up higher on his shoulder and continued toward the gym. He slipped into the changing area and stripped out of his uniform, down to the blue regulation trunks of his high school swim team.

He paused a moment, considering himself in the mirror. He had a swimmer's build: small and quick, yet with powerful limbs and long, wide hands. For a short moment, he almost saw why the coach had been successfully persuaded into allowing a freshman on the team- the moment faded rapidly. He was the slowest one on the team, fellow freshman included, and even the rather lumbering boys also forced onto the team by persistent parents had a few seconds on him in most races. He wasn't a bad swimmer; the coach had said he might be rather good… if he could keep his mind on the race. _The race,_ Malcolm had silently added when the coach told him that. _The race, and not drowning._

He shrugged a t-shirt on over his swim bottoms and stuck his bare feet into his gym sneakers, with every intent of going out to fake some pre-meet chat with the rest of the team. 

Something stopped him.

Malcolm sunk back against the wall of the shower stall and tried to keep his breathing steady. Suddenly his heart was racing out of control; he felt sick to his stomach and weak all over. 

Until now, the fear had been more of what his father would say if he didn't go through with the meet. Now that it was quite clear he'd be swimming in the races after all, the fear was slammed into him at full force- not the fear of his father, but of drowning itself. 

He tried to stay calm; it was really no use. He was out-and-out panicking, gasping for breath, while sweat broke out on his neck and forehead. He reached to wipe it away, panting, and found that the sweat on his cheeks was warm, wasn't actually sweat at all. 

That hit him like a blow from a fist. Malcolm was on his feet in an instant, wiping the rest of his face on his shirt, getting his breathing back under control. He heartened slightly; he was a Reed. Reeds didn't shy away; Reeds didn't chicken out of anything. Reeds most _certainly_ did not cry, or sit in bathroom stalls miserably. Maybe, somehow, this moment changed something; maybe, suddenly, he had the strength now to do this.

He strode out of the shower, drawing himself up to his full height and breathing as deeply as he could. Randomly, out of shear chance, he caught a glimpse of the clock on the opposite wall.

Malcolm laughed quietly at he private joke. It was four-o-nine… whatever was about to happen, it would all be over in five hours. 

Quick AN: If Malcolm seems a little young or childish or anything for a 14-year-old, that's because I originally conceived this fic being set when he was about eleven or twelve. Then I realized, of course, how could he be on a high school swim team if he wasn't in high school?


	3. Part III

Disclaimer: I don't own the Reeds.

Hey guys! Thanks for reading Fear of Drowning. I'm please with the response to Part II- I was worried about how people might perceive Malcolm's 'episode' at the end of the chapter. That's how I remember it feeling to have a minor nervous breakdown, but I didn't know if I managed to say it without corniness/cheesiness- glad I seem to have. Of course I don't know when to stop so he has another one in here… ;)

****

Fear of Drowning

Part III

As it turned out, nothing had changed. Malcolm Reed stepped, tall and proud, onto the poolside… and froze completely. He locked his legs into autopilot and stumbled over to the team bench, sitting down hard and letting his chin drop to his fists.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents and Madeline approaching and made himself sit up straighter.

"Mally!" Madeline squealed, running over to him happily.

"Hi, Maddy," Malcolm replied dully, feeling a small sense of warmth at the sight of his sister's shining blue eyes. It didn't help much, though.

"Everything all right, son?" His father asked kindly. Anyone overhearing would have thought him merely a concerned parent; Malcolm knew better.

"Just trying to get myself ready for my first race," Malcolm assured him, grinning slightly to emphasize his lie. "Trying to concentrate, you know."

"Well, we'll leave you to get in the right state, then," Stuart said. "Come, Maddy, let's got get a good seat."

He walked off, trailed by Malcolm's sister and mother, who seemed in one of her silent moods again. "Make me proud, boy." The parting comment was tossed back over his shoulder.

Malcolm sat heavily back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to look meditative. Stefan, clad only in his trunks, came and sat beside him. "Parents," he said, noncommittally.

"Parents," Malcolm echoed, his eyes still closed.

He felt Stefan sit back against the wall beside him, and sensed the older boy's eyes scanning him critically. "Alyssa was right," he commented at last. "You don't look well, mate. Will you be alright to swim tonight?"

"Yessir," Malcolm responded without thinking.

"Did you just call me 'sir'?" Stefan laughed, sitting up from the wall and looking over at his friend again.

Malcolm forced himself to open his eyes and laugh right along. "I suppose I did. Sorry- pre-race nerves, maybe." Which was partially true, at least.

"Listen," Stefan said kindly. "It's no big secret that you hate being in the water. I mean, you're a good enough swimmer, mate, but no one's expecting you to carry the team on your shoulders. If you mess this up, no one would think the less of you. I mean, you were just sick yesterday."

Stefan's eyes were sincere, the act of friendship honest. For a moment, Malcolm almost considered telling him the real reason he was scared. He even opened his mouth to being to do so.

Stefan, I don't hate being in the water… I'm terrified_ of it…_

terrified 

"Stefan…"

"What?"

"_Attention_," came a booming voice from all the speakers. "_The first race will begin in one minute. Swimmers, please take your positions!_"

"What is it, Malcolm?" Stefan pressed as the both stood and moved through the crowd of bodies to their marks.

"It's nothing. Forget it," Malcolm assured him. But as they climbed on to their respective diving boards, the two representatives for their school in the first race, his legs felt limp and powerless. His hands were shaking, something he hid by curling them into fists.

"_Swimmers, into position,_" the voice roared again. Malcolm, Stefan and the other few competitors bent their knees and folded their upper bodies down over their legs, arms extended. Someone in the crowd cheered; it sounded like his father.

"_Three, two…_"

Something went wrong. One ankle twisted out of position when his body gave a particularly violent tremble. The cheers of his father and the rest of the noise from the crowd distracted him; instead of righting himself, he half-jumped, half-fell of the board a second too soon.

He hit the water, face and chest first, arms splayed wildly, and sunk like a stone. The contact with the surface had forced all the air from his lungs, and now, as he fell through the water, his chest was already burning.

Dimly, filtered through the water, came shouting- some of it sounded scared, some of it was rooting on the other contestants, still oblivious as the what was occurring in lane two.

He could barely see; his eyes were partially lidded closed and what shapes he could make out were wavering under the watery light. The sight- more alien than anything had ever seemed before- terrified him even in his half-conscious state. He knew he hadn't been under more than five seconds, but already he felt his grip on the world failing, his senses fading.

A current of water hit his face; he gasped instinctively, his lungs filling with bitter tasting pool water. Now he was truly drowning- every nightmare he had had about this scenario suddenly coming true.

But as he tried to panic, he found it as useless as trying to breath. He hadn't the energy nor the will to be afraid anymore… he wondered, quite randomly, what time it was.

He was getting delirious. He knew it and barely cared. He had ceased to hurt, indeed, ceased to feel anything, and it was actually a quite pleasant sensation. _Maybe_, he thought, _maybe I should just stay here. Stay here drowning forever… _The thought amused him and he laughed.

Malcolm barely even felt the pair of hands pushing him from the water as another reached down and dragged him forcibly onto the hard, cold tile surrounding the pool.

The following minutes might have just as well never happened to him at all; Malcolm was unaware of them anyway. Stefan and Coach Maddon partially led, partially carried him into the locker room. A doctor, mother to one of the other team's racers, had followed them in and proceeded to examine him, trying to sooth him as he painfully coughed up all the water that he had mistakenly inhaled. She didn't leave his side for what felt like forever, stroking his hair in a motherly way until the choking and gagging had all but stopped.

Dimly, Malcolm felt his own mother's presence replace the doctor's; it felt colder to him, and he illogically wished that the stranger would return instead. Mary Reed made no move to comfort her son.

Alyssa had come down from the stands and into the locker area at some point; she and Stefan now sat, Madeline between them, at his feet. Coach Maddon had left by the time Malcolm felt himself growing less groggy; he groaned as he realized the meet was still in progress.

He made to sit up, and upon noticing, Stefan and Alyssa abandoned their hand game with Maddy and moved to help support him. His mother didn't help in any way. Almost angry, Malcolm looked over at her… only to see her hand covering her mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Malcolm felt queasy-dizzy- again, all at once, and pressed his lips together, wondering if he would be sick. He was wide awake now, and he couldn't help thinking he'd rather just pass out again and go back into the blissful darkness. Things could not get any worse.

In the years to come, Malcolm would learn a very important lesson: things could, and would, always get worse.

Stuart Reed entered the locker room. He was under the best of circumstances a disagreeable man, but now he radiated fury. Malcolm tried not to recoil, knowing it would make the situation worse.

His father crossed to him in what seemed like a single step. He stood in front of Malcolm, eyes burning, his body tense and practically trembling. Malcolm tried to look him in the eyes, and failed miserably.

"Never…" Stuart panted. "Have I been… more ashamed of you… than I am now."

Stefan prodded Alyssa in the arm; reluctantly, she followed him out of the locker room. Madeline stayed still as a statue in her vantage point on the tile floor.

"That was one of the most… pathetic-"

"Stuart, would you stop it? Just- just stop it!" Malcolm's father looked over at his wife, more shocked at the moment than furious. Malcolm agreed with him this one time; his mother hadn't spoken, that he could remember, since the entire ordeal with his getting sick the morning before. Now, Mary stood before her husband and son, still sobbing, brandishing her hand randomly. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "He's just a boy and he's been sick!"

"He's fourteen years old," Stuart replied. His voice was suddenly calm- the eye of the storm. "You need to stop treating him like a child, Mary dear. He's at the age where a boy ought to stand up and become a man." He turned back to Malcolm, and the next words he said would stab at his son's heart worse than anything else every could. "Is this the kind of son I've raised? Is my boy a coward?"

Malcolm realized with a jolt of fear that his eyes were stinging. He bit the inside of his cheek he tasted blood, wanting nothing more than to die right then and there. To make it all go away.

"I said," Stuart growled. "Is my boy a coward?"

"Nosir," Malcolm whispered. His mother was still next to him, weeping into her hands.

"Come," Stuart Reed said suddenly, standing up straight. "We're going home." Madeline had managed to block out the entire encounter with magical ignorance; now she skipped out of the gym doors and into the biting England air. Mary followed her daughter and husband. None of them looked back to see if Malcolm was coming.

For an eternity, which was more like a second or two, really, Malcolm just sat there, wishing like hell that he had, indeed, died that day. It would have been easier.

He stood, stumbling in the direction of his mother's retreating back. Their shuttle took off just as the ambulance ship was landing in the school parking lot.

Somehow, though he never knew how he managed it, Malcolm Reed got back to his house and into his room before losing it completely. He couldn't convince himself this time that his father would get over this like everything else… it was true that he had never seemed that angry before.

Malcolm locked his door and moved, almost mechanically, over to the window near his bed, throwing it open before sinking down onto his mattress and letting the howling wind assault his ears until he could hear nothing else. It was the fourth story and he briefly considered jumping, but he didn't have the strength to move. He lay there, feeling the tears run down his cheeks rather than actually crying them. He was empty; he didn't want to die. He only wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

He lay there for a long time, barely breathing, until a sound jolted him out of his misery. He looked around dumbly for a second until he saw the clock.

It was a quarter to nine.

He had made it.

Malcolm stared at the clock face for a second, unblinking, unbelieving, until at last he started to laugh. He had made it, he realized dimly. The day was over- he could go to sleep now, finally.

Malcolm sat there laughing, tears still falling down his cheeks, for a long time, until he finally passed out from total exhaustion.

Story End

Hope you liked the angst! Review?


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